


Like Fire

by LeFay_Strent



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: AI Logan, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, M/M, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, he is a good boy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21984403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFay_Strent/pseuds/LeFay_Strent
Summary: Logan answers steadily. “I suppose I was . . . curious.”“You’re an AI. You don’t get curious about anything outside of your programming.”This is true. Or it’s supposed to be true.
Relationships: Logic | Logan Sanders/Deceit Sanders
Comments: 21
Kudos: 179





	Like Fire

**Author's Note:**

> This work is inspired by skeletonsloverockcandy over on tumblr. They sent a prompt for AI Logan, and I'm finally delivering! I kind of ran away from the prompt a little bit, so I hope she doesn't mind!

Logan is one of a kind.

Arrogance does not lead him to this fact. It merely is thus: a fact. The techs that built him have told him as such. Corporate investors who attend his testing shower praise over the progress of technology.

“The world’s most advanced AI,” they murmur as they look upon him in awe.

“Look at him; he could pass as human.”

“But that’s the beauty of it, it’s not a human. Can you imagine the possibilities?”

“Mass production, for one.”

“Of course, once all the kinks are worked out.”

“Most people wouldn’t be able to afford what it takes to make them.”

“Think bigger than commercial. They’re going to be militarized at some point.”

“Could end up replacing soldiers. Wouldn’t be such a bad thing, less people dying.”

“Who cares about that? Think of the money they’d pay.”

Logan is one of a kind.

For now.

* * *

Logan sits motionless on a stool while a tech does a rundown of his systems. He only moves when prompted to.

“Infrared?” the man asks.

Logan’s eyes blink. Although they are blue, if one looks closely, they can see a subtle ring of lighter blue shift. The tech’s body blazes in colors, red at the hottest sections.

“Fully operational.”

The tech glances at a computer screen, seeing what Logan sees. “Excellent,” he says and checks off on an electronic tablet. “X-ray?”

Logan obliges and gives a satisfactory answer.

“Good, good. I think that’s enough about your eyes.”

Logan waits for the tech to finish his paperwork. He has no other commands to complete, so Logan glances over the tech. The man wears a dark outfit underneath the standard white lab coat. He has scaring on the left part of his face, rendering his left eye blind.

“What is it that caused the scaring on your face and subsequent permanent damage to your left eye?” Logan asks.

The tech glances up quickly at Logan as if he’s startled. Logan doesn’t know why he would be startled. He has been aware that Logan is in the room the entire time, and Logan had just been previously talking to him.

His mouth drops open in uncertainty, eyes narrowed at Logan. “You’re…asking about my scar?”

“Indeed. Was my phrasing inadequate?” Logan thinks his question had been clear, but the tech looks confused, if not a bit alarmed.

The tech ignores Logan for a moment and turns to the computer, clicking through windows and searching for something Logan does not know.

Unsatisfied, the tech returns to staring at Logan in bewilderment. “There was no context provided that would require that information as being pertinent.”

Logan nods in agreement. “The most relevant context would be a discussion on eyes, as you had just been examining mine. However, that was an examination for me, not for you.”

“Yes, so why did you ask me that?”

Logan ponders. Why did he ask that? Why does he need to know information that is not pertinent to his situation?

After deliberation, Logan answers steadily. “I suppose I was . . . curious.”

“You’re an AI. You don’t get curious about anything outside of your programming.”

This is true. Or it’s supposed to be true. Logan does not speak until spoken to, unless he requires vital information or needs to relay it to his operators.

Logan considers pursing his question, but refrains.

“. . . I think we should do a diagnostic of your programming, just to be on the safe side,” the tech concludes.

Logan says nothing more.

Before the tech only looked at Logan when he had to.

For the rest of the examination, the tech keeps glancing at Logan.

* * *

Logan enters stand-by mode at night whenever most of his operators go home. He must recharge, like humans; but unlike humans he does so by way of wires instead of a bed.

He stands in a darkened room. His eyes are shut and his processes slow to limit any unnecessary functions. His awareness thins and black overcomes his vision.

When humans sleep, they too experience a void-like absence of awareness.

That is, until they dream.

AI can’t dream.

Or they’re not supposed to.

* * *

Logan is with that same tech again today, the one with the scarred face. He has Logan stand on a raised platform surrounded by sensors, arms extended.

“Now shift just your right forearm.”

Logan does as he’s told. The peachy flesh of his forearm slowly sinks away. The color is replaced by the pale silver of his robotic arm; meanwhile his hand and bicep remain seemingly human.

The tech taps his chin. “Hm, the speed rate’s still not there.”

“Ten point fifty-four seconds,” Logan supplies helpfully.

“Like I said. Not good enough.”

Logan watches the tech as he walks away to make adjustment on a computer. He frowns to himself.

“Dreadfully dull,” the tech says. Logan wonders if he’s being addressed or not. The tech isn’t looking at him, focused on the monitor screen. “No one can ever be satisfied with what they’ve already got. So much time wasted for an arbitrary ideal of perfection. What’s perfection anyway?”

“The condition, state, or quality of being free or as free as possible from all flaws or defects.”

The tech glances up at him with a withering stare. “Yes, thank you Logan, that’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”

Logan tilts his head in a pondering way that he’s seen humans do. “Your words do not match your tone of voice, which sounds unsatisfied.”

“It’s called sarcasm,” the tech says, rolling his eyes. “Millions of dollars put into you, and yet I don’t think you’ll ever quite learn the nuances of that one.”

Logan begins to get the distinct feeling that the tech hadn’t been talking to him earlier after all.

He waits for the tech to say more but he doesn’t. Logan returns to watching him, hoping that this time he can better read the man’s body language and tone of voice whenever he speaks next. He finds himself staring in particular at the name tag the man wears.

_ D. Wright _

“Have any more curiosities to report?”

Logan looks up at the man’s face. D. Wright isn’t meeting his gaze, focused again on the computer screen, and yet his attention must surely be on Logan if he asked him a question. If the question is truly directed to Logan, that is.

“Are you asking me a question?” Logan asks for clarity.

D. Wright snorts. “Do you see anyone else in this room? And don’t look around. That was a rhetorical question.”

“Ah,” Logan hums. That is also a nuance of language that he has yet to master. “My initial hypothesis is that you are asking me a question in connection to our previous conversation about curiosity?”

“Give the robot a prize,” the tech says. He glances over the monitor at Logan, and there’s a sliver of a smile on his lips. “Yes, I am referring to that conversation. Is there anything else you’ve been curious about? Speak now forever hold your peace.”

There are many things that Logan has been curious about. Questions that he has not had reason to voice. No one has ever given him the opportunity.

What is the most important of his questions? He doesn’t want to waste this precious chance. It may never happen again.

“Do you dream?”

D. Wright’s brows furrow “Elaborate, please.”

“When humans sleep, they experience what is known as ‘dreams’. I have accessed much information on the subject, and there are many people who do not remember ever having dreams. I want to know if you are one such person.”

The tech shifts his weight to the other foot. He stares at Logan for a long time.

“I remember some of my dreams,” D. Wright answers, voice softer now. “Not all of them, but some.”

Logan nods. And then—completely unprompted—he adds, “I believe that I have experienced dreams myself.”

The tech’s brows raise nearly to his hairline. “You don’t sleep, Logan.”

“This is true, but I do enter a similar state of minimal awareness at night. And following these time periods, I occasionally recall imagery and sensations that I myself have not experienced. I have no other plausible explanation besides ‘dreams’.”

“Even on stand-by, your systems are still processing. You’re just picking up on random bits of information throughout the night.”

“They seem to be too random and nonsensical to be as such.”

“Alright, just what do you dream of then, Logan?”

Many things.

Things he wishes could happen to him but are not needed, so why does he _want_?

Logan tells him of the most reoccurring dream. “A common theme is fire.”

“Fire?”

“I have seen myself holding fire, have felt its warmth in my hands, and yet I have neither done that nor would it be sensible of me to do it. Despite this, by the morning I feel as though I have done just that.”

D. Wright drums his fingertips on the edge of the keyboard.

“No, that wouldn’t be a sensible thing to do at all.”

In the end, they reexamine his programming for any bugs.

* * *

Logan doesn’t talk about his curiosities with the other techs, only D. Wright. 

Logan isn’t exactly sure why this is. He suspects that the others would react poorly to him acting outside of his designed behavioral patterns. What ‘poorly’ entails, Logan does not know either, except that it brings him the most peculiar sensation of not being safe.

It’s ridiculous. Logically he knows that these are the people who built and sustain him. They have no need to damage him. Why would he feel—

No, not feel. He does not experience emotions.

Or as with many things he’s discovering lately, he’s not supposed to.

“Why do my skin modules need to be enhanced?” Logan asks, and he feels comfortable asking because it is only D. Wright here with him again.

“Because ten point whatever seconds just isn’t good enough for some,” D. Wright grumbles.

“Ten point fifty-four seconds.”

“ _Whatever_ ,” he groans. 

He’s got Logan up on the platform again. Logan’s shirt is off and his torso bare of skin. His limbs are still covered in flesh, as well as the neck and up.

D. Wright stands before him, his keen eye glancing between the monitors and the AI. Yesterday they had finished the most recent modifications, but problems are arising.

“Tell me how long shifting your torso took you?”

“Nine point one seconds.”

“Better. Now shift your right hand.”

Logan does so, but both hands lose their skin. He blinks at the metallic fingers. That was not supposed to happen.

D. Wright rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “This is the punishment we receive for our hubris.”

“Eight point eighty-seven seconds.”

The tech pulls at his hair. “Fucking nanotechnology. It’s all supposed to be at a consistent rate. And what do they do? Go and muck it up because ten point whatever seconds is just too damn long.”

“Ten point—” Logan cuts himself off at the scathing look D. Wright sends him. He redirects the topic. “What is the purpose of minimizing the shift rate?”

“This and that and whatever reason suits them at the moment. But my _favorite_ one is speculating the benefits of AI being able to perform repairs quickly while in hostile territory.”

“That…does not seem to be a terrible investment.”

“You’re missing the point entirely. They want to send you off to fight in somebody else’s war while they sit cozy. What an absolute waste.”

Just as Logan is becoming more comfortable voicing his thoughts to D. Wright, the man has been more talkative than ever. His cynical opinions occur more often, sometimes without Logan prompting him.

“How would that make you feel, Logan?” D. Wright questions him, searching for Logan’s opinions as well. “To be something so great just to die as a tool?”

What would it feel like to die? Would it be like entering stand-by mode? Could enough of him be recovered to be rebuilt? Would he even be the same afterwards?

How does Logan feel?

“I am a tool,” Logan answers because it’s the one fact that he knows with certainty.

D. Wright looks at him, and Logan cannot place the expression. He knows though that the tech is deeply unsatisfied with Logan’s answer.

“Logan . . . Tell me about one of your curiosities. What would you like to know?”

Logan knows the most prominent question that has been stirring within him recently. However, he hesitates. Why he hesitates, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know so much.

“Your name,” Logan states. “What does D. stand for?”

“Of all the things you could ask me, you ask me about my name. Why?”

“I . . . don’t know. I simply know that I want to know.”

“Do you want to know the names of the other techs?”

Logan almost thinks that his systems have malfunctioned for a moment. They continue to respond adequately, but Logan swears that they must have stalled for a moment. D. Wright’s question has floored his inner workings. He has never considered the answer because he never considered the question as important.

Now . . . he thinks there might be a reason for it.

“I remember all of their names,” Logan responds. “I have registered and filed them in my memory banks. I have no need to ask about them.”

“Then why mine? Everyone’s name tags only initial their first name. So why ask for mine?”

“Because . . . Because I don’t need to know about them.”

“But you need to know about mine?”

Logan stops before slowly shaking his head.

D. Wright leans forward, only a couple of feet away from him now. Logan can scent the faint trace of mint on his breath as he rephrases his question. “But you _want_ to know about mine?”

Slower still, Logan eventually nods his head.

D. Wright leans back. He turns and walks away a few steps, grabbing his tablet and giving his attention to it. Logan thinks that the conversation has ended and the tech has returned to work, but D. Wright speaks to him again.

“It’s Declan. Declan Wright, though I prefer my friends to call me Dee.”

“And what should I refer to you as?”

The tech shrugs and wanders over to the computer monitors. “Just call me Dee.”


End file.
